


Seeing is Believing

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Humor, M/M, Size Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You, sir, <i>totally</i> have a fetish.” Set in Justice era, 1988.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing is Believing

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "Some Like It Big."
> 
> Written as a gift for megalodon, as part of 2012's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield (Metallica): Size kink.' I was intrigued by the prompt, so I did a little research, and well... yeah. This came out.

After drinking some bottles of hard liquor and most of a large cheese pizza in Lars’s stupid big suite, Kirk said, “You, sir, _totally_ have a fetish.”

“Oh yeah?” Lars rolled his head to the side. Kirk lay in the same position he did, on the opposite couch: head on the armrest, hands on their belly, pants unzipped and open, feet up on the other armrest. “And what’s that?”

“You like _biiiig_ guys.”

Lars smirked.

“See?! It’s fucking obvious, bro. I mean, your chicks, tall, big breasts, occasionally a nice ass. Guys? Tall, handsome, and biiiig fuckin’—” He stopped. His eyes went wide.

“What?”

The grin on Kirk’s face warned Lars to say no. Which meant whatever Kirk was thinking, he had to say yes to.

“Come ooon man,” Lars whined. “What is it?”

“I’m curious.”

“Uh-hu. About?”

“Oh, a certain someone that fits your particular criteria.”

“And that is…?”

“Some hot guy we know. Plays guitar. Has a hot fucking voice.” Lars’s eyes went wide. “Long blond hair, blue eyes—”

Lars pushed up onto his elbows. “Kirk.”

“Wears insanely tight jeans that shows off his—”

“Kirk!”

“Yeees?”

He lifted a hand, fumbled with his balance, lifted it again, pointed (a little bit off the direction of where Kirk was actually laying) and said, “I am _not_ fucking James.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s James!”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

“Oh come on, haven’t you always wanted to know—”

“No, Kirk.”

“Yes, Lars.”

“No. Big fucking fuck all no, and you know why? Uh?” Lars pushed himself up into a sitting position. “You know fucking why?”

“Because he’ll pound you into the concrete until you’re ash and dust, big fucking deal.”

“Okay, that’s it.” He struggled up onto his feet, pushing up from the couch. “You are definitely clinically insane, and I am not going to listen to you anymore.”

“Aw, too bad. I had some juicy info to tell you.”

“Nope, not listening. Lalala.”

Kirk waited for Lars to circle around the couch and bend down to pick up his jacket. And then: “He sucked me off.”

Lars froze. His jacket fell back to the floor.

He slowly turned around, his eyes bug-eyed, mouth wide open.

“You’re. Shitting. Me.”

Kirk rose two fingers up, pressed together. “Scout’s honor.”

“When? Where?” He scrambled back to the couch. “Jesus fuck spill the fucking beans already, Hammett!”

“Well.” Kirk pushed up onto an elbow. “It was surprisingly easy, for starters.” He sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “We were hanging out in my room a month back or so.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “I don’t remember exactly _where_ , either, but it was after a gig. James wanted to hang out, and you had gone off with fuck knows who, so I said, ‘why not?’ So we listened to music, watched one of my movies in my suitcase, had one too many beers…”

“And?”

Kirk picked up an open bottle from the table between them, shrugged and said, “He shoved me on the bed, tore my pants down and sucked my dick.”

Lars blinked. “Really?”

“Yup.” He took a swig from the bottle—and found nothing. “Great.” He dumped it to the side.

“He just… that’s it? Unprovoked? No sign?” Lars frowned. “No kind of, like, fucking—”

“You calling me a liar?”

“Well…”

“Pft, of course you would.” Kirk leaned back against the couch, arms out over the headrest, crossing his legs. “You’re jealous.”

“Look—”

“You’re just jealous that I got James Hetfield’s mouth on my dick, and you didn’t.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense!”

“That he chose me and not you?” Kirk grinned.

“Okay, you know what? Fuck it.” Lars waved his hands in the air, getting up from the couch. “I’m done.”

“Calling defeat so soon?”

“I’d actually call bullshit, but whatever. You got James, you win, I’m out of here.” He went to pick up his jacket again and slipped it on quick. To hear Kirk got a taste of what he wanted most—what he still jerked off to when he could, in the shower, in the hotel room, sometimes after a gig, having watched James’s ass and legs and that damn sweaty back all night—

“Too bad I didn’t get to finish,” Kirk said.

“Finish what? Your story, or did he not make you come?”

“Oh no, he did. It’s what happened after that’s interesting.”

He turned back to Kirk. “So what then? Uh? What else happened?”

“He didn’t say my name.”

Lars frowned.

Kirk pulled his arms down from the headrest. He said, slowly, “When he finished sucking me off, he put his head on my stomach, and he _didn’t_ say _my_ name.”

Then, Kirk gave him a look.

Lars froze.

After a while, with his breath held back, he took a step forward towards Kirk and asked, “Whose did he say?”

Kirk tilted his head to the side—and he grinned.

***

Twenty-four hours later, he regretted ever agreeing to this crazy stupid idea Kirk had. “All you gotta do is get him in your room, get him _roaring_ drunk, and I promise, he’ll do the same thing to you like he did to me.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

It would’ve been a little bit more reassuring to know what kind of alcohol Kirk used that evening with James, except Kirk couldn’t remember. “It was too far back, I only remember how he sucked my dick,” which was a valid explanation, but _still_. “Any alcohol will work” didn’t assuage his shot nerves.

Getting James into his room wasn’t that hard, at least. After their gig, he casually asked him after a shower (and trying not to stare too much at James’s wet body in a white towel), “You doing anything tonight?”

“Not really, no.”

“Wanna hang? I got some Carlsberg in my hotel fridge.”

“Fuck yeah.”

And that was that. Phase one of Kirk’s stupid plan, done. Phase two happened pretty quick as well. Within thirty minutes, he and James were in his room, with the beer he bought specially for tonight, and they were both on their way to becoming drunk as fuck.

Which was where they were still at. Still drinking, still watching TV, and still eating pizza in Lars’s room, on Lars’s bed. With no types of sucking going on.

“You sure I don’t do anything?” he asked Kirk, before they went on stage.

“Nothing at all. Understand?” Kirk grabbed his shoulders, leaned in and said, “No matter what happens, you let him be in control, or it’ll all end before you know it.”

Lars watched James crack open another can of Bud. The three bottles of Carlsberg he drank earlier littered the floor, around his feet.

He sighed and sipped his own can of Bud. _Well, he sure as fuck not doing anything either, Hammett._

They watched some western James found on his cable TV. By the time it finished, the pizza was gone, his bladder was full, and he gave up all hope on anything happening tonight—or ever.

He pushed off the bed for the bathroom. “Gotta take a leak.”

James grunted back.

Lars ended up sitting on the toilet seat when he finished. He ran a hand over his face and muttered, “I’m such a fucking idiot.” He shook his head, slapping his palm on his thigh. “Such a fucking idiot. What was I thinking, listening to Kirk? Of course James would want him.” He stood up, heading for the door. “Shit.”

He walked to the bathroom sink to wash his hands.

And then: “Hey.”

To his right stood James, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey, sorry.” Lars turned off the water. “Bathroom’s all yours.” He reached for a towel and dried off his hands, turning his back to the door.

A hand touched his hip.

Lars froze.

Another hand touched the other hip.

They squeezed down.

A gasp ripped from his throat when they jerked his hips back, and his ass met something hard, and big. Rubbing between his cheeks. Grinding.

His eyes widened.

Lips touched his ear, and out came the growl, and the words, he was waiting for.

“I want you.”

The towel fell out of his grip.

It was an attack. A ruthless attack on his body. Rough hands snatched his waist, twisting him around to face James, and all his gasps, moans, any semblance of words, were all eaten up in the rough kiss James shoved onto his lips. All thought disappeared when James snaked a hand up and under his shirt, raking nails deep into his skin, over his back, his body arching so far up, he went on his tip-toes. And stayed on his tip-toes when James grabbed his ass, squeezed it hard enough to bruise and humped his crotch against his. His hands flew into James’s hair for some sort of control, some sort of balance, but Kirk’s words hit him—don’t do anything, nothing at all, he’s in control, he dictates the rules—and he listened. He sunk into James’s tall body and James’s rough kiss and James’s big hands and stopped thinking. Stopped all thoughts of resisting, of telling James ‘stop.’ Because he couldn’t let this end. He couldn’t let himself fuck up and have James stop this. Not when he finally got what he wanted.

He moaned into James’s mouth as he felt those hands grab his thighs and hitch them up. He followed along, wrapping his legs tight around James’s waist. It was just like he hoped for. Just like he wanted. James’s strong body carrying him from the bathroom to the bed. James dumping him down and instantly covering him with his body. James’s hands pulling off his shirt, shoving off his pants, rubbing his crotch against his bare hip, and he moaned louder into James’s mouth when James grabbed his wrists and pinned them down.

His hips thrust up against James’s stomach, rubbing up against the shirt. He needed him—anything from him. His mouth. That cock. Anything. James had the control. James had _him_.

James actually _wanted him_.

He found himself shoved into position when James ended the kiss: all fours. And he startled hearing James unzip, and looked over his shoulder, ready to see it. Ready to see what Kirk didn’t get, what Kirk was never going to get—

His jaw dropped open.

Over the years, with all the touring and shared showers they did as band, he’d seen James’s cock a few times. But soft, and not for an extremely long time either. He couldn’t really look that much in the showers, out of fear of James catching him one godawful day; and outside of it, James liked to cover himself quick. From what he did see though, it looked nice. A good length. Something he’d enjoy sucking in his mouth.

He slightly expected it to be this long.

He had no idea it’d be this _thick_.

Jutting out from the flap of James’s jeans, its head leaking and red and pointing right at him, he watched James wrap his big hand around the base, and then give it a good, long stroke up, collect some precome, and down. Up, and down.

“You like that?”

Lars rolled his eyes up.

James smirked at him.

James, on his knees, wearing his ratty black Misfits tee and skin-tight jeans, stroking his big, long, thick cock.

He licked his dry lips and nodded yes.

His breathing sped up, watching James lift his other hand and spit a huge wad of saliva into it. Both hands moved on his cock, pumping, stroking, giving little twists—James tilted his head to the side a little and let go a soft moan—and Lars felt the bed quiver from his own shaking body, his arms and legs ready to give out from waiting and _watching_ this.

And James didn’t stop. He slid a hand into his jeans. Saw his fingers cup his balls and give them a squeeze. A slow massage. James’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to muffle another moan.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t breathe.

James, pleasuring himself. Making Lars wait.

The bastard knew he had all the control.

Lars’s fingers twisted into the sheets. His face burned. His body burned. His chest and stomach hurt from all his heavy, fast breathing.

And against his will, Lars heard himself whimper, “Please.”

James stopped. He gave him a look that nearly made him come, a predatory, angry glare that almost made Lars beg for it. Slowly, James moved his hands from himself to Lars’s ass, palms flattening on the cheeks.

He gasped as James spread them wide.

He didn’t look away when James spat between them.

He stayed as still as possible, despite how violent his body trembled, watching James slide a hand across and press a finger at his hole, spreading the saliva around.

But he couldn’t stay quiet. Moans and whimpers spilled out of his dry mouth each time James teased a finger inside him. Moaned louder when it finally pushed inside, all the way in. His eyes shut, his head lolling to the side and down, feeling that finger fuck his ass in a rhythm that drove him crazy: slow, slow, fast; slow, slow, fast; slow, fast, slow, too slow—and then the second finger came into play. Two fingers in his ass. Two big, long fingers, stretching him open, loosening him up, getting him ready for that cock, with the same damn rhythm that left him in shambles. Slow, slow, fast. Slow, slow, fast. Slow, fast, slow, slow, slow—fast, fast, faster, faster, the knuckle hitting his ass cheek, twisting here, twisting there, loosening him up—

The noise he made when James those fingers jerked out of him.

The whine he released when James pushed the head of his cock to his hole.

The whimpers, the moans, soft little “fuck” and “shit” and “oh fandens, I can’t” as James thrusted into Lars.

Big. Thick. Huge.

Too huge.

His shoulder blades poked up, his neck bowing forward. His breathing trembled like his body.

It stretched. It burned.

The last thrust forced a whine from his throat.

Balls against his ass. All the way in. Everything.

Lars clenched his fists into the sheets. Sweat matted his hair to his face. A little whimper spilled out between his dry lips.

A hand rested on his belly. James’s chest folded over his back, wrapping an arm around his torso.

James’s heavy breathing, against his ear. And that raspy voice too.

“How’s that feel?”

He took a few breaths before whimpering back, “Big.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-hu.”

He felt a small thrust out. Small thrust in.

Lars whimpered.

James’s lips dragged along his skin, nose in his sweaty hair. “You like ‘em big, don’t ya?”

“Yeah… fuck…” He licked his lips and moaned, “I do.”

The hand on his belly gave him a little rub. James chuckled, kissing his neck briefly. “Good.”

He felt his body moved, the arm around his torso pushing him up into a kneeling position. He groaned, that cock inside him pushing somehow deeper. His hands flopped at his sides like a rag doll, his head lolling forward to his chest.

And he nearly came when James growled over his ear, “I like ‘em nice and _tight_.”

He was used the rest of the night. Fucked in that position first, his arms flopping all over from James’s thrusts, his chin bouncing off his own chest, James’s arm around his torso his source of balance and strength. Fucked into the mattress second, face first, the side of his head shoved into the sheets and the mattress, James holding up his hips and fucking him hard enough to make headboard crack the wall. Fucked on his back, legs held up in the air, James’s big hands squeezing his knees and keeping his weak, pliant legs wide open, his equally weak and pliant arms useless on the bed, framing his head. He thought it was all over when James had gone to the bathroom for a piss. But he woke up from his dozing to James’s cock sliding back into his ass, fucking his sleepy body on the side, his knee pressed to his chest.

Lars came whenever James remembered to jerk him off. James only came twice.

In the morning, Lars woke up to the sheets wrapped around his sore body, an _extremely_ sore ass, and a dressed James, fishing through his wallet for a few dollar bills.

James met his eye and smiled. “Hey, I’m gonna go get us breakfast. McDonald’s okay?”

He was too exhausted to respond correctly—or to register that James was getting them breakfast and _not_ kicking him out like he expected—so he nodded his head and closed his eyes, instantly falling back asleep.

By going back to sleep so fast though, he missed the kiss James pressed to his cheek.

***

James walked down the hallway towards the elevators, and then made an abrupt left into the next hallway.

After passing by a few rooms, he stood in front of Kirk’s door. He rapped on it a few times. 

Soon, a deadbolt unlocked. The door opened.

Kirk poked his fuzzy, curly head outside, squinted, looked up at James—and his sleepiness disappeared in an instant, a smug grin crossing his face from ear-to-ear. “I _told_ you he’d fucking fall for it.”


End file.
